


Something Lost

by destron destroyer (strange_isle)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Plug and Play Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strange_isle/pseuds/destron%20destroyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Senator Proteus reacquaints himself with Shockwave, post Shadowplay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Lost

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to [extension_cord](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/extension_cord) for looking this over before I posted it!

Proteus is the first off the senate floor after the day’s session, but he stops to linger by the side exit — the one Shockwave favors these days — and falls into step at the other mech's approach. It’s the first chance he’s had to appreciate his special punishment closely, and Proteus can't help staring. “Hideous,” he thinks at the claws, the bulky frame, the small, cyclopean head. The overall effect satisfies fully.

Shockwave does not acknowledge his fellow senator beyond the barest glance until they reach the thoroughfare outside the senate. There, he stops to face him.

“Your business?” Proteus has heard Shockwave — the new Shockwave — speaking at assemblies, but is unprepared for the terrible coldness that seeps into his frame.

He ignores the discomfort and flashes a smile he knows to be winning. “Yes... You voted in favor of my plan today, Shockwave. Only a minor one, but I find it — unexpected.” The time for a reply comes and passes, and Proteus is forced to pick up the slack. “Which isn’t to say I’m not appreciative. What I need to know is... can I rely on your support in the future?” His voice drops lower. “Or is this some game of yours?”

“Our interests coincide for once, no more than that.”

“And if I’m being honest, which I always am,” Proteus takes a succession of strides to catch up with Shockwave’s much longer ones, “that statement troubles me.”

“Because you dislike me or because you think I prevaricate?” Proteus eyes the mechs in the street. His bodyguards press close, but so does the crowd, which isn’t giving two senators anywhere near the amount of respect they merit.

“Continue this in private, Shockwave?”

“Very well. We shall talk. _Briefly_.” The walk lapses into silence.

Shockwave’s estate is a modest stroll from the senate, and they reach the gates before the quiet grows intolerable. Proteus has traveled here before for various functions, but always with appropriate transportation. Arriving by foot with a film of dust on his pedes puts him in the beginnings of a foul mood. The gate opens automatically for Shockwave, who pauses until Proteus’s entourage has made it through, then leads the way to what must be a guest house, given its furnishings.

The interior is sparse but clean, and Proteus feels a pang of disappointment that Shockwave’s estate hasn’t lapsed into squalor under his new mindset. He meets Shockwave's optic but soon gives up trying to read the mech's mood. “Expectant” is the best he can manage. “You may wait for me at the gates,” he informs his bodyguards, who withdraw obediently. Proteus seats himself at the table and rests against his elbows, hands folded under his chin.

“To answer your earlier question, my reservations don’t stem from you lying, or from my hatred of you, which I assure you endures in every possible facet.” He pauses and Shockwave waits for him to elaborate. Proteus thought he'd had this conversation mapped out, but his next sentence is entirely on impulse.

“What was your first thought when you woke up at the Institute?”

A stirring of some kind passes through Shockwave. “I felt... clarity. Awareness for the first time of all my old encumbrances.”

Proteus can't help the laughter. “I rather thought it would have been to kill me.”

“And that’s why you came to my residence and dismissed your bodyguards?”

“Maybe I wanted to test the results of my gift. To see if you needed another turn under the scalpel wheel.” No, this direction is not planned at all. Neither is rising to stand before Shockwave's massive form. “Are you enjoying the color I picked out for you?” Proteus says.

“It suffices.”

“It's the one you swore you'd never wear in that ridiculous interview. Yes, I watched the entire thing. You made the title of Senator a laughingstock.”

“I am certain I had help in that arena.” Shockwave looks down at Proteus, who continues, heedless.

“Are you sure no trace of that famous vanity remains?” Proteus lifts his hand and scrapes one knuckle deliberately against the entire length of Shockwave's chestplate, then fingers the ugly scratch. There's no flicker of rage in that lone optic, no outburst, and Proteus finally pinpoints the source of his dissatisfaction.

Forcibly calm now, Proteus moves his hand to Shockwave's hip. He's gentle this time, searching out a thin gap near the leg where his fingers can slip inside. “So many things you’ll never be able to do again. Not with those claws.” He strokes a wire with one digit and entwines another with a second.

Shockwave jolts from his impassivity, a low hum coming from his vocalizer.

“That's right.” Proteus uses his free hand to perform the same manipulations on Shockwave's other side. "Think anyone else will touch you like this? You certainly can’t do it yourself.”

Shockwave's frame is so wide that Proteus is forced into a near embrace in order to reach both hips. He bends slightly, keeping a space between their bodies. “Don't get any of your paint on me. I don't want to de—“ Shockwave slams Proteus backwards against the wall, crushing him between it and his own chassis.

Stunned, Proteus can't even find it in himself to be furious. “Very dignified, Shockwave,” he says once his vocalizer recovers. He smiles in spite of his dishevelment. “That seems a constant with you, at least.”

Shockwave stares down at him, and despite the lack of a face to read, Proteus _feels_ the force behind his gaze. He can also feel a crushing grip on his arms, just beneath the shoulders. He's suddenly, painfully aware that Shockwave could rip them off at a whim.

“Don't — _Don’t_ touch me with those claws if you want me to continue!” Proteus strokes the cabling beneath his hip seam again. As he'd hoped, Shockwave's grip loosens. “Remove them completely. I'm not a deviant.” He accompanies this with another caress, this time reaching as far as he can into the system of wires. Shockwave releases both arms just as his legs start to buckle.

Proteus slips away, not wishing to be crushed further, and shakes his head. ”I'll be honest; I'm not even sure where to begin here. Your frame is so crude.” As it happens, Shockwave's position on the floor lets him reach his neck cables, which he tests by brushing very softly with the backs of his fingers. Shockwave makes that delicious low hum again and slumps against the wall.

“Where are your interface cables? I want to feel what this does to you.” Shockwave makes no reply. “Are you glitching?”

“...Negative.” It's the first word Proteus has heard from him in some time. He rather likes having the power to deprive Shockwave of speech.

“Did they even leave you with any? _There's_ a consideration. I don't think I specified anything about that.” Shockwave gestures to the panel between his legs and then waits. “Well? Get them out.” Shockwave makes no move for the panel with his claws, nor does he retract it automatically. Proteus vents in impatience.

“Panel control is manual and... requires a certain dexterity,” Shockwave finally states. It takes Proteus a moment to understand, but when he does, he can't hold back the laughter.

“Oh, oh my goodness, that is cruel. My commendations to the Institute. Here, _allow me_.” His voice is all graciousness as he traces the panel's outline, seeking out the slight ridge that permits him to slide it open. “I suppose you could grasp some tool or device in your claws, and— oh, Primus, I can't bear to even think about it any further. The obscenity!”

Proteus seizes the thin cables and retracts them fully in one movement, making Shockwave jerk at the careless handling. “Only two. Well, that’s enough.” He opens his own panel, a discreet cover above the left hip, and matches the first cable to its corresponding socket. “Ahh...” Proteus hisses, “Oh, you are _charged_.”

Proteus rubs his fingers up and down the cable to stop the little twinges he’s feeling from his rough treatment of it earlier. The whir of Shockwave’s vents powers to a sudden roar. “Mmm... you liked that? Don’t worry, there’s still the second one too.” He makes a longer production of connecting the last cord; there’s no full loop — Proteus has no intention of involving his own cables — but it’s clear just the spectacle of him pushing the connector into place is doing something for Shockwave.

He kneels, straddling Shockwave’s legs, then settles himself downward, letting the broad thighs bear his weight. The cables trail between them, and Proteus takes them both, working his fingers from one end to another, pausing after each pass to recover from the thrill transmitted by the connection. On the last pass back, he brings his fingers flush against the open panel between Shockwave’s legs and rubs the two thin rings of metal where the cables emerge. 

The sensitivity — it’s so much, so strong — Proteus collapses against Shockwave’s chest as they shake together, stunned. A new urgency fills him, and Proteus rises back onto quaking knees. He grabs a massive shoulder, using it as an anchor to hold himself at face level, and delves his fingers into Shockwave’s neck wiring again. He teases the cables relentlessly, drawing equal amounts of pleasure for them both.

Proteus moans at the sensation and presses his body closer, draping himself against Shockwave to replace fingers with glossa. The sudden switch makes a casualty of the flooring, Shockwave digging his claws in hard enough to gouge it. His plating suffers as well, shallow dents formed wherever Proteus clenches.

After one last, fierce lick, Proteus pulls away, venting heavily. “I think... I’ve gotten carried away. I didn’t mean to be... quite the participant.” He’s about to unplug the two cables at his side when Shockwave whips his claws forward, catching both of his wrists. An iron grip forces Proteus’s hands away from his body.

“Nnnn... release me.” His struggles might well be nonexistent; Shockwave does not budge. “What did I say about touching me?” Proteus fights hard enough to leave rings on his wrists where the metal is sheared away. Shockwave holds him steady as the charge continues to pass between them. “Oh Primus...”

The struggles turn to shivers, and Proteus swears the charge is intensifying even without his participation. Shockwave’s optic is fixed on him, pinning him with nearly as much strength as his claws. There’s fascination in it, sharp and unrelenting. Proteus gives a weak, hopeless tug and loses himself in the pulse of arousal that follows. “Let me go. Let me go — we’ll finish this,” he whispers.

Shockwave relaxes his hold and Proteus falls on him, assailing his neck cables with glossa and dentae. Two sets of fans howl at full power in a vain effort to disperse the rising heat. Proteus’s thoughts are a haze, but a gleam draws his optics to the silver antenna just above him. The metal has an appealing sheen; where the rest of Shockwave bears a coarse finish, the ear fins are polished and perfectly smooth. He tries grazing it with his dentae and hears Shockwave’s claws abusing the floor violently. A soft lick to the antenna leaves them both trembling.

Proteus sinks downward, leaving his right hand to ply Shockwave’s antenna and working his left between the other mech’s legs. He fingers an interface cable, and Shockwave moans fully enough for Proteus to feel the reverberation in his own chassis. It’s hard to find his target with how badly his fingers are shaking, but he traces the cables back to the open panel and those sensitive metal rings. He takes a deep vent and times a simultaneous stroke to both them and the antenna.

The backlash hits Proteus instantly, and the small part of his processor still functioning can’t match the shrill sound coming from Shockwave to anything he’s heard a vocalizer make before. He tries to listen, to impress it on his memory, but each throb of his overload obscures his senses with bursts of static. Little arcs of electricity jump from Shockwave’s cables to his frame, sending jolts of pleasure that draw the climax out to a punishing extreme. His full-frame shudders grow more and more erratic until at last his body gives out, offlined.

* * *

As his systems reset themselves one by one, Proteus stirs, his processor sluggish. He’s sprawled limp against Shockwave, who is in turn supported by the wall. Proteus feels sated, but somehow raw, too sensitive. With a groan, he pulls the interface cables from his ports, and the overstimulated feeling starts to dissipate. Shockwave lifts his head, letting it droop again a moment later.

It takes a few tries, but Proteus gets to his pedes. He takes stock of Shockwave, who’s made no attempt to rise yet. The other mech remains motionless, legs spread, his cables trailing on the floor

“Such a mess...” Proteus says, ignoring how he must look himself. “...Do put those away — it’s indecent.”

He nudges the nearest cable back towards Shockwave with his pede and laughs when he twitches. The action succeeds in breaking Shockwave from his stupor, however. The bulky mech sits up, taking a cable awkwardly between two claws. It slips back to the floor, his control poor. Shockwave scrabbles for it again and clutches the cable more carefully this time. He studies it, not daring to grip any harder, then looks at Proteus.

“Oh, Shockwave. You need me to do it for you?” Proteus doesn’t bother hiding his glee as he kneels, pulling the wire from Shockwave’s grasp. He displays the connector between two fingers and grins before feeding both cables back into their housing. He slides the panel shut, giving it a final tap that makes Shockwave twitch again.

“You really _can’t_ get off without help, can you?” Proteus says, no pity in his tone. “Which I won’t be giving again.”

“I didn’t expect you would.” Shockwave’s voice is laced with static, but level.

“I’m sure you can pay someone. That’s the common solution, I think.”

“It’s not usually a distraction.”

“I made you need it then. I brought you to your _knees_ with a touch.” Proteus smirks, leaping to his pedes. He shifts his weight between them, hips at a jaunty angle. “Don’t hate me too badly.”

“You lost control as much as I did — caught in my grasp, pleading.” The smirk flickers and fails to reappear. Shockwave rises as well, using the wall for balance. “I don’t hate you, Proteus. Despite your misguided longing for the contrary.”

“And why would you say that?” Proteus’s words are low, edged with menace.

“Once you could rely on my emotions to feel superior — my ‘outbursts’ as you termed them. You cling to my old self, unable to accept that you’re the irrational one now.” Shockwave tilts his head. ”Remember, Proteus. This was at your orders.”

“Ridiculous!”

Shockwave turns, no longer interested in the conversation. “Use the facilities to clean up and see yourself out, Senator.”

Proteus makes for the washrack, any shred of good humor gone. The metal of the doorframe warps in his grip as he passes through.

He's barely across the threshold when Shockwave pauses. “My recommendation: make an appointment for yourself at the Institute. I believe you will be much less troubled."

Proteus says nothing, his optics blazing as he slides the door shut.


End file.
